Eight of Heroes
by TheLittleMissShadow
Summary: The most unlikely team of heroes, brought together by just pure luck. But these things don't just happen by coincidence. Deep in the heart of Skyrim, something powerful has awakened. Two Daedric Princes battle against each other and the price could be the freedom and lives of Tamriel. It's going to take a team of eight heroes to save everyone.
1. Prologue: Boethiah

**Prologue: Boethiah**

 _"Lord of Plots, Deceiver of Nations, Devourer of Trinimac. The Queen of Shadows, Goddess of Destruction, He-Who-Destroys and She-Who-Erases...Many are our lord's lofty names, but they befit only us mortals. Intone her mighty names from now until the end of time - it is for naught. Names mean nothing to our Lord. She cares for those who care for themselves, whose hearts are full of purpose, whose lives are full of deeds."_ \- Priestess of Boethiah

The evening sky above was as red as the blood staining the rocks below. Skyrim's weather was harsh tonight, those without masks or helmets were greeted with the brisk stinging slap of breeze. It nipped at rough and grime covered faces of the figures stood around the shrine. The air was suffocatingly filled with the stench of death, ash and decay. Smouldering and claustrophobic, the lingering taste of blood was everywhere. Burnt corpses were scattered around the area, shrivelled and charred. Decomposing bodies were impaled on spikes, a grim display of the artful horrors transpiring upon the shrine. Maggot infested bones and ragged remains of clothes were plastered to the rocky ground with dried blood, sitting in little piles as an abhorrent reminder of the life previously inhabiting the cadaverous remains.

The shrine sat on top of a steep mountain, its pathway framed with sharpened spikes exhibiting a morbid showcase of decapitated heads as their cold, accusing eyes stared off glumly at passers by. Laying about the shrine were broken pots filled with trinkets and offerings, but they were frozen and dulled by many nights of cold showers. Yet they were presented as gifts to the Daedric prince statue before them. Blooming amongst the horrors was the proud sacrificial circle; decorated with pulsing blue swirls and alight with magical energy. Words were scrawled into the smooth stone in between each spiral, it was the language of the Daedra but everyone knew what this ominous sentence translated to; _"I am alive because that one is dead. I exist because I have the will to do so."_ The words of the Daedric Prince herself.

Surrounding the pillar of sacrifice was a crowd of figures. Obediently, they parted without uttering a word or needing an instruction as a man approached the deadly circle followed by two cloaked guards flanking each side. They were towing the remaining members of a bandit camp raided not so long ago. The leading man wore a unique set of armour; from a distance it would appear to be Ebony armour, but up close it was obvious something was different about it. It was polished black but the metal had a strange green sheen to it, obviously inhabiting some kind of magical presence; witnesses had seen enemies fall to the ground in agony as they approached the wearer.

His helmet was not a part of the set. The object was crafted from a metal that seemed ancient, though it had managed to maintain its smooth gleam over time. Grime was stuck in between each carved line and fold of the mask, and up close it was easy to tell that it had been work down in some areas. Yet it was a marvellously craft piece, covering the entire surface of both the man's head face, and neck. The sculpture was carved to resemble the face of a warrior, his skin marked with swirls and strange symbols, a pair of long curved horns protruding greatly from the forehead. A face created to give a sense of power and authority, eyes set straight forward, and the mouth upturned into a frown. A figure of both beauty and pride. No one had ever seen the face of the wearer beneath this mask.

He approached the circle with short, long strides, each step having the same gracefulness and elegance of a man who clearly had spent hours perfecting his every move. Not a word was heard from the crowd surrounding him, nothing but the whimpers and groans of their gagged and beaten prisoners. The only noise hovering in the air was the wind against their ears and the crackling of torches. The leader stopped in front of the sacrificial ring. Gleaming blue pulses from the Sacellum reflected onto his helmet, making him look as though he were alight with magic as he stood before the statue of the Daedric Prince.

"Your worship," he finally spoke, his voice having a calm and emotionless ring to it. "Your deed is completed. Your worthless champion is now dead, the pathetic liars who called themselves your 'followers' along with him and now I bring you back the Ebony Mail you desired to have returned to you. And I also present a gift - the the remaining members of those who swore to be your worshippers but only used your favours for their own selfish needs." The man dropped down onto one knee, but even this act of submission seemed to come with its own grace and dignity.

A prolonged tense silence hung in the air after that. Seconds ticked by and the wind grew ever stronger against the mass of figures. Everyone seemed to have been holding their breath in that moment as the man with the mask stared down at the floor intensely. His gloved hands were gripping one knee until the knuckles underneath the material had surely turned white with pressure. Suddenly, a haunting voice rung in the air, inhuman and loud. Sudden gasp of breaths sounded amongst the crowd, the emotionless figures coming to life at the voice of their prince.

 _"My new champion,"_ sounded an enchanting female voice.  
Daedric Princes were commonly known to have no gender but the voice of this prince was often changed throughout time to prove she had no real identity and that simple matters like gender were such a mortal thing. Greatness did not need a sexuality, it just needed a pure mind.  
 _"You have returned, do rise to your feet my follower."_  
The masked man nodded, pulling himself up, his cape fluttering in the growing breeze.  
 _"You have proven yourself worthy to be my new champion, you have shown fearlessness, treachery, ferocity and prowess in combat. With these gifts, I shall spill their blood at my feet. Give them too me, I wish to see those who rebel against me suffer in pain and agony."_  
He glanced behind him, nodding curtly at his two flanking companions as they struggled to restrain the prisoners. Each one stepped forward, revealing the Prince's gifts before her.  
 _"Spill their blood my followers, spill their blood and make them pay for their treachery,"_ the velvety voice echoed.

The first prisoner was cut loose and pushed into the circle, a middle aged Imperial wearing moth-eaten fur armour. But his ragged appearance wasn't enough to conceal the panicked fear in his bugged eyes. He was about to protest - maybe scream, but his words were suddenly blotted out as he went rigid. His eyes almost bulged out of his head with fear as his face twisted and contorted with pain before he was flung back against the pillar embedded at the centre of the circle. A transparent dome appeared over the ring, making sure he couldn't break free even. But that was doubtful whilst he was under the paralysis enchantment.

The masked man knew what to do next, with one swift movement he had an ebony dagger in one hand. The edges were ragged but sharp, still smeared with dried blood from the last sacrifice. He stepped forward and the dome didn't stop him, drawing up to the prisoner pinned against the pillar.  
"For our prince," the masked man sneered before the dagger cut through the air and hot blood poured from the prisoner's throat, oozing down the front of his chest.  
The prisoner shuddered from the attack, his whole body erupted into a spasm, spittle forming between chapped lips before he fell limp and dropped to the ground like a ragdoll.

 _"There is no greater gift a man could give me other than spilt mortal blood,"_ the excited inhuman voice spat, _"Now, what is it you come for my champion? I wish to see more of your gifts suffer under my wrath but first I demand you tell me what it is you desire so much."_  
The masked man wiped the sacrificial blade onto the fur of the dead prisoner before sheathing it again. He looked up at the marvellous statue. The ruler of Attribution's Share, portrayed as a woman in this sculpture but that didn't make the Prince appear any less magnificent and grand.  
"Boethiah," the man called, his voice rising over the surging winds and crackling of fire, "ruler of deceit, conspiracy, treachery and sedition. I ask you for a favour, a favour I desire to ask you for because I know it will bring you so much pleasure."  
 _"What is it my champion, what is it you desire that you believe shall please me so much?"_  
"I wish for the destruction of Tamriel, I wish for blood, death and violence. I wish for dictatorship, power and submission. I wish for the blessing of the one true Daedric Prince so I can bring Tamriel to its knees in all its glory."


	2. Chapter 1: The Bee and Barb

_"Our Access to those bits of luck are what separates us from common bandits." - Gallus Desidenius_

Leonde skimmed the rim of his mug delicately with a finger, "is that all Maven?" He asked cooly, his voice low, eyes shadowed beneath his hood.  
The Riften inn was packed full of drunken parties, crammed together under the cosy roof. The atmosphere warm and cheerful with the fire crackling and drinks that kept coming and coming. Leonde Dilius and Maven Black-Briar were seated away from the drunken clatter towards the end of the room. Maven sat back in her chair with a rather agitated expression on her face as she resisted the urge of a sudden outburst against the annoyingly loud ruckus in the room.  
"That is all," she replied, her tone clipped. "Will you be needing any more information or can I finally go and get some peace away from these imbeciles?"

Leonde shook his head in amusement, his attention seeming to be more focused on the strange coin being skilfully spun through his fingers. He was participating in an average Thieves Guild errand, and Maven Black-Briar was a common customer of the Thieves Guild. One of the most powerful women in Riften - maybe even Skyrim - didn't gain such respect without making a few enemies beforehand. So naturally, Leonde had been given the mission to frame an enemy of Maven's; landing the idiot safely in jail where he could do no more harm.

"I won't be needing anything else," he told her smoothly. "I can work on the information you've given me fine. And I suppose we can just discuss the coin reward once the job is complete as always. Are you leaving now or can I get you another drink?"  
Maven narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips as Leonde revealed an alluring grin underneath his hood, "I think I'll pass on that one Leonde, I have other errands to attend to."  
Leonde just gave her a nod, the grin not wavering from his face, "I shall see you again soon then." And he stood up, walking over to the bar for another drink.

"Open your mouth again and you're going to be floating face down in Lake Honrich before you know it!" Eliza snapped at an intoxicated Imperial whom had been stumbling about the inn, slurring some bard song for the past hour or two.  
A few of the inn's more mature commoners grunted in agreement while the Imperial was steered off from the bar by a friend. It was another night after a demanding job and all Eliza wanted was some quiet drinking time to herself - this was difficult whilst there was fools such as this who felt the need to ruin everyone's night with their drunken ranting and raving.  
"Come on Ertius, you've had enough for tonight," the friend of the drunken Imperial's murmured.  
"I ain't 'ad enough until I say I've 'ad enough!" The Imperial, Ertius, continued to drawl, staggering back to the bar with a bitter snarl and slammed his palm flat down onto the scratched wooden surface. "Keerava, I wanna 'nother mead," he demanded drunkenly towards the Argonian Inkeeper behind the bar, who only shook her head without saying anything. She went on to polish another mug, yet not attempting to make Ertius another mead.  
"Keerava-" Ertius warned, almost stumbling into a stool as he made his way round the bar.  
Eliza's grip tightened on her mug as she sensed the beginnings of a fight. But just before the tension rose as another man came up behind Ertius and put a hand on his shoulder, "maybe you should sit down Ertius, I'll get you another drink."

The man behind Ertius could be identified as another Imperial distinguishable by the smoothness of his voice which had amazingly settled down the room, and also the tanned skin of the hand at the drunk's shoulder. Ertius mumbled something quickly under his breath as the hooded Imperial guided him to a seat before walking to the bar himself. Eliza glanced at Ertius, he had passed out, now slumped in the chair with his head lulled backwards against the wall. The drama was over and Eliza turned back to her drink.  
"Voice Of The Emperor?" Eliza murmured into her mug as she took a swig.  
The hooded Imperial, who had come beside her, nodded, "clearly. I don't usually need it but Ertius is stubborn when it comes to his drink. The only thing that will stop that man from reaching his mead when he wants it would be if the entire inn was burnt to the ground." He paused, "though even then he would somehow sell an arm or a leg to travel elsewhere for another tavern."

"I take it you come here often then," she noted, her tone full of boredom as she traced her fingers over the scratched markings on the wooden surface subconsciously.  
"And I take it you don't," the Imperial muttered, as he ordered an ale from Keerava.  
"Can't say I'm much of a drinker," Eliza admitted, "especially not in a place like Riften. This town is too miserable the majority of the time and you can't sneeze without the entire town accusing you of being a member of the Thieves Guild."  
Leonde grunted, "Fancy that," he muttered under his breath; he was sure the woman should have heard it but whether it raised her suspicions or not Leonde didn't know as her demeanour hadn't changed from the same blank expression. "Name's Leonde by the way," Leonde added as Keerava came by and slammed his mug of ale in front of him.  
"That's nice." Eliza replied, looking at him for the first time since their conversation had started.

His hood covered the majority of his head though she could just make out the face underneath it. A chiselled clean shaven jaw and very fine thin lips. He looked well fed, his muscular build noticeable underneath the casual cotton clothes and he almost could be mistaken for a pretty high born if it wasn't for the faint tell tale battle scars dotted in various places on his face.

He laughed at her reply, he had a warm, welcoming laugh. She didn't like him.  
"So what's your name?" He asked her, deciding to overlook her clear dismissal.  
"Annabel," Eliza told him, she was a good liar but unfortunately Leonde knew better.  
"You're name isn't Annabel but I guess this is a start. Well 'Annabel', can I buy you a drink?" He asked, leaning on the bar slightly as he eyed her intently, trying to read her face but her cleverly trained expression was too blank to tell.  
"That's an odd question to ask," Eliza commented. "Unless you were physically incapable of speaking to the bartender, which I've noticed you're not by the way, then I don't see why you couldn't buy me a drink."

Leonde's smile twitched, he wasn't sure whether this was some snarky form of rejection or she was completely oblivious to the common gesture. Before he could answer, the entire tavern was disturbed by a sudden cold breeze entering the humid room as someone came barging through the open door. It was an armoured guard, seemingly out of breath with a bloodied weapon braced in one hand ready.

"Bandit attack outside the city at Merryfair Farm!" He announced before rushing outside again.  
Leonde sighed, slamming his mug down after taking one large gulp from it.  
Eliza raised an eyebrow at him, "You're actually going to help?" She asked curiously as she watched him start to equip several knives from the bag strapped to his torso.  
Leonde shrugged, "I have nothing better to do so I don't see why not," he replied, giving her a toothy grin. "And are you not coming?"  
Eliza snorted into her mug, "Obviously not. Do I seem like the sort of person to be saving a bunch of defenceless farmers from a bandit attack? Besides, I'm not wearing armour and I left my weapons at home."  
Leonde sighed, tugging on his gloves over his thin calloused hands. Eliza glanced at them suspiciously, they had that usual gleam enchanted items had if you looked at them closely enough. But there was something else about them that alerted her attention. Leonde caught her stare and grunted, nodding towards the dagger at her belt, "I'm sure that will do."  
Eliza laughed, "And how do you know that I'm not entirely useless at weaponry and just carry the knife around in case some pesky criminal decides to attack me?"  
Leonde chuckled, leaning towards Eliza so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck. He spoke in a lowered voice specifically so no one else could hear, "because there's blood on your boots," he informed her with a wink before swiftly leaving the inn.

Eliza took Leonde's statement as a metaphor at first, shrugging it away dismissively before turning back to her drink. But when she looked back down at her boots she realised they were literally caked in crusted brown blood. "Oops," she murmured, gulping down the rest of her drink; _to hell with it_ , she thought, sliding off her stool and leaving the inn too.

The bandits hadn't attacked Merryfair Farm with an intended desire. Several other locations had also suffered under their wrath, apparently they had all come from one location and just decided to wreck havoc on their journey home. It was by chance the guards had only just found them as Merryfair was being ambushed. By the time Leonde got there he found half of Riften's guards and a few locals from The Bee and Barb in pursuit against the bandits. There were so many - it baffled Leonde. Bandits would usually stay in groups such as this in forts or caves but not often would they travel in packs big enough to draw the attention of an entire town. Bandits obviously weren't known for their stealth or intelligence as they were for their havoc but this wasn't the usual petty bandit raid, this was a rampage. The farm's animals had been slaughtered, cows were lying dead in the field and the thatched roofed cottage was in flames, smoke dancing over their heads. If you squinted enough in the distance you could see even more flames from their last visit. It was like a snail trail of destruction, marking their territory and their path.

Suddenly, Leonde saw a bandit charging towards him; an Orc, large arms and a terrifyingly scarred battle face, wielding a blood caked war hammer over his head. Leonde was short and agile enough to easily dodge the attack, ducking under the Orc's arm which was a predictable move yet Orc bandits were not known for their intelligence, more for their barbaric ruthlessness in battle. The Orc attempted to swing again, this time going for the back of Leonde's legs but Leonde was fast without his armour and rolled out of the way into a crouch. He eyed the Orc, slowly manoeuvring around him on the balls of his feet, boots crunching on the dry leaves and eyes not breaking lock with the Orc's own. It was a tense moment between them, surrounded in their own isolated bubble away from the bloodshed around them. Leonde knew that if he made the wrong move the Orc would effortlessly cave his skull in with that almighty war hammer of his, but Leonde also knew that if he made the precisely right moves the Orc would be dead before he knew it. With nothing but a glass dagger in one hand and the only armour being the clothes on his back, Leonde knew his chances against this monstrous size of an enemy were very little.

The eye contact broke - the Orc had grown impatient, giving one ferocious battle cry before charging forward with his war hammer swinging wildly to-and-fro. Leonde jumped, intending to tackle the Orc to the ground before he was brought to an abrupt halt by a mysterious dark figure that suddenly leapt onto the Orc's back. There was a flash of reflective light coming from the figure's hand and hot blood poured down the Orc's massive torso who gurgled and shuddered before falling flat on his face with a thump.

The figure leapt off, landing perfectly onto the ground before strolling towards a bewildered Leonde. Clearly a female clad in Dark Brotherhood armour, face covered by a shrouded cowl only to reveal a pair of icy blue eyes. She gave a muffled chuckle, pulled the mask down from her mouth.  
"I apologize if I disturbed anything but quite frankly that fight of yours was boring me to tears," the woman from the bar informed Leonde before her head suddenly whipped round and she flung a dagger at an oncoming bandit.  
"I should have known," Leonde murmured, spotting another bandit charging towards them.

He raced towards the fallen bandit she had flung the knife at, plucking a sword from limp hands and blocking the charging bandits attack swiftly. Leonde grabbed the bandit by the fur of his armour and shoved him backwards to give Leonde more space to swing his new sword. The bandit stumbled before quickly regaining his balance again - their blades clashed as they both lunged for the same attack - metal sang against metal. The bandit had the upper hand with skill and strength but Leonde had his sharper reflexes. His moves were precise and calculated, everything was measured and observed; his opponent's face, height, build and even his facial expression. It was going well before the bandit decided to play dirty, kicking Leonde's legs out from under him while their swords were locked together. The bandit prepared to thrust his own sword into Leonde's chest but not before his 'guardian angel' struck again, leaping through the air and slicing the bandit's head clean off his shoulders where it almost landed in Leonde's lap if he had not scrambled away.

"I like this weapon," the assassin smiled as she strolled over the body, weighing out a new sword in her hand and admiring it lovingly. "They call me Eliza by the way," she added though her eyes were still preoccupied with the sword, "I have nothing to do with anyone called 'Annabel'."  
"So you're a member of the Brotherhood then," Leonde stated breathlessly as he helped himself up onto his feet. "What happened to not wanting to save 'defenceless farmers'?" he asked, turning round and faced the flaming ruins of the farm before them.

Riften's guards and helping citizens had almost picked off the last of the bandits. A few had stolen horses or just grabbed what they could, some were even carrying prisoners on their shoulders- one burly man was holding an unconscious young girl as he legged it, her blonde hair flying as he took off into the woods to go and loot elsewhere. Others had stayed to face their crime, falling miserable to the blades of Riften's people.

Eliza shrugged, "got bored," she replied blankly, following Leonde's gaze towards the fighting. "I thought bandits were stupid before but this is just ridiculously stupid," she commented. "You would think they would at least have some kind of strategy or motive, the amount of places they could have decided to loot but instead they're picking on the petty farms dotted around Riften of all places."

"Do you usually announce you're a Dark Brotherhood assassin to complete strangers?" Leonde asked curiously, ignoring Eliza's remark.  
Eliza pursed her lips, "not to complete strangers, no. Now that would be completely unprofessional wouldn't it? A bit like pulling on a pair of Thieves Guild gloves in front of a complete stranger at a bar," she pointed out and a smile slid onto Leonde's lips.  
"Well considering the Brotherhood and Thieves Guild are 'best buddies' I'll say we can overlook this entire thing and go our separate ways," he chuckled. "Where will you go now?"  
Eliza pulled the cowl back up over her pale face, "back to the sanctuary," she replied, her voice a little muffled. "I best get moving before one of the guards spot an assassin strolling about the area. I might possibly see you again Leonde... oh, and if you carry on fighting like that, you're going to end up dead," she dismissed, turning around and jogging off in the opposite direction of the brawling bandits and guards without another word.


	3. Chapter 2: A Dreamer's Peril

The cage stank of blood. That was one of the terrifying things that rose to Bria's mind as she sat on top of a mangy heap of hay with her knees drawn to her chest. It stank of blood, rot and decay. The room was freezing and her wet clothes were stuck to her skin, being of no protection against the brisk draft in the room. She could remember walking back home from a day in Riften to be greeted with the suffocating cloud of smoke rising from her burning house. The flower bed she had once loved to tend now blazing along with everything else she knew, the animals she had raised and fed had been butchered in their fields, and the crops she had spent days as a child tending to now burnt and left smouldered to nothing. She could remember the shock and agony as her entire life seemed to be torn apart. Bandits were everywhere, swarming over the property like a disease and making sure there was nothing left to treasure.

She was scared; she didn't know where she was. The only thing she knew about her captives was that they were the same bandits who had attacked her home. One had seen her as she had attempted to scramble away from the cottage. It had been quick really. She had tried to run - fight back, but unfortunately with no experience in combat she had been easily beaten down and tied up. A bag had been shoved over her head and after that it was a hazy cycle of slipping in and out of consciousness. She could remember being hauled over someone's shoulder and carried away from the smouldering smell of smoke and the cries of battle. They had trekked for goodness knows how long before the temperature suddenly dropped and the air around them became more clammy and cramped - she guessed they had entered a cave since their every sound suddenly became amplified and echoed off the stone walls. And her way through the cave had been painful. She could remember being pulled through freezing cold water before being half pushed and dragged over a slick rocky path, marring her skin with various scratches and bruises along the way.

She could see now - even if she wished she couldn't. The room her cage sat in was another part of the cave, a small room that seem hollowed out precisely for the opportunity of a prison. Various torture implements were hung up on nails hammered into the smooth stone walls, leather shackles were attached to a torture rack standing upwards in the middle of the room and the floor was covered in animal fur rugs which were speckled with dried blood. There was no door but a makeshift hole cut out jaggedly from the stone. Bria had attempted to view outside the room but the slimness of the makeshift entry way and the angle at which her cage sat made it impossible for Bria to be able to see the corridor. She didn't know how long they had travelled for as her lack of consciousness lead her memories of the journey to be unreliable and she knew nothing of the cave other than it must have some kind of stream running through it hence why her clothes were now itchy and damp and it would also explain the constant sound of streaming water. Now and again she heard voices but they would only walk past and were too mumbled to be made audible anyway even if they were significantly amplified by the echo within the cave.

Her lack of information was what was scaring Bria the most right now. She had crawled to the far corner of her cage to lean against the bars with her long blonde hair hanging in damp ropes over her face. She didn't know why the bandits chose to attack her farm, she didn't know how much of her farm was left intact now they had surely gone, she didn't know how many of Riften's people had been killed in the horrific bloodshed and she didn't know why the bandits had chose to keep her rather than cut her up like everything else that got into their path. But most of all; she didn't know where her parents were. When Bria had first turned up at her demolished wreckage of a farm she has seen no sign of her parents.

She had only gone into Riften to have a little trip to the market square. She did not think to imagine that one day she would come home to find it completely gone. And what of her parents? There was a tight itchy feeling in her chest just at the thought of them. Then urgent and tightening urge when you needed to know something you didn't. That sudden rise of panic that overwhelmed her when she woke up in the cage and realised that she could possible be an orphan. Surely they had gotten away? Her parents were farmers, not fighters. Her father had been more cautious than ever once they moved to the farm and heard what had happened to the Dunmer family that had lived at Merryfair Farm before her own. He had talked to her about the risks - told her exactly what to do during an attack. The Dunmer family had been robbed during the night, finalising their decision to travel back to Morrowind as it had not been the first time they had been robbed. Though this had been the work of the Thieves Guild and not a bandit attack such as this - never the less, Skyrim's lands were swarming with bandits and her father was a careful man. Surely her parents would have ran? She hoped they did. She hoped they had just dropped everything and darted off into the forests.

She wanted to go home - she didn't know what the bandits wanted with her, why would they go through all the trouble of taking her like this? She was terrified of what was to come, the torture tools hanging on the wool were like a banner announcing her fate clearly. She choked out a little desperate sound, huddling her knees to her chest. The moment she had woken up she had done everything she could to try and get out of the cage. She had searched every nook and cranny, determined to stay strong like the heroes in the books she had read. But unlike those heroes, she was not strong or courageous and she did not hold any magical powers. She did not fight dragons or slay giants. She was just a girl. So in the end she had screamed as loud and as long as she could, tears running from her striking blue eyes and delicate hands banging on the bars until her fists were scratched and bleeding. No one had come - in fact, Bria could have sworn someone had begun to play music during her tantrum, possible trying to block out the noise.

There was another prisoner in the room with her - a Nord and presumably a farmer by the looks of his clothes. Bria thought she recognised him but if she did it was probably just a passing in the street as she could not remember ever conversing with him. He had been dozing for a few hours, having only woken once and realised where he was before going back to sleep again. He was sitting in another cage next to her own, slumped against the bars with his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked old, with grey hair cut short and a straggly beard reaching his chest.

"S'cuse me," Bria whispered at the man, shaking the bars of her cage a little. "Mr, s'cuse me," she said a little louder, shaking the bars even more but the man did not budge.  
Bria scrambled around her cage, finding a small pebble under the pile of strewn hay and throwing it at him. The first time it went through the bars of her own cage but then recoiled off the bars of his so she retrieved it before trying again. This time she stuck her arm through her bars first, using her wrist to fling the pebble. It hit his chest and then landed in his lap, causing him to wake up with a sudden snort. The man's eyes opened and he looked around a little delirious at first before his eyes rested on Bria and he smirked.  
"Hullo there," he greeted with a heavy Nord accent.  
Bria swallowed a little, sitting on her feet with her shivering scratched arms wrapped round her torso. "Do... do you know where we are?" She whispered nervously, shrinking back now slightly as she was talking to the stranger.  
The man shrugged, "what good would it do if I _did_ know where we were?" he asked rather miserably, resting his head against the back of the bars and staring off into the distance. "We're not getting out, I don't know how to tell you this but this room is going to be the last thing you see. I take it your parents must have told you the mean things big ol' bandits do?" He gave her a side ways look, "do you even _know_ what they're going to do?"  
Bria only shook her head, but briefly glanced at the implements hanging on the wall and taking that as a very obvious guess.  
The man noticed this and smirked, "yes, now you get it. I doubt _you_ will get that just yet though. I presume they're planning on taking me apart for entertainment as soon as they realise I'm awake. Not you though... oh no, not a pretty little thing like you. Tell me, are you married?"  
Bria choked slightly at the question, shaking her head quickly, "not yet, father has arranged for me to be married but I do not wish to do so."  
The man gave a low chuckle, "even better for them then, they like 'em ripe."  
Bria gave a frown, her small lips parting a little in confusion. "What do you mean?" She asked feebly.  
"Oh my girl, you're even still naive to the life of an adult despite preparing for marriage. Maybe it's best you stay naive. Ignorant is the best thing you can be these days. The more knowledge you have the more miserable life around you seems."

The Nord straightened up a little more, examining a deep cut on his arm with sudden interest. "They burned down my farm - my life and my fortune. I welcome this new pain and death with open arms. I pity you for you are still young."  
Bria stiffened a little, "surely... surely _someone_ must have seen us be carried here?" She asked, her voice wobbling slightly, "my parents would realise I'm gone... they would know I was taken. Surely they must have some idea. Bandit camps are taken down all the time... we must be rescued at some point," her voice wavered off as the realisation and lack of hope crushed at her chest more and more. She squeezed her eyes shut, slumping against the bars and drawing her knees up to her chest again.  
 _Don't cry_ , she told herself, _be strong, be strong like the heroes in your stories. A hero would not cry in this situation._ She clenched her fists, biting down on her trembling lip hard.  
The Nord smiled weakly at her again, his face looked said and hopeless, "you can keep on telling yourself that lass, just keep telling yourself that."  
Truth be told, Bria's parents wouldn't notice her disappearance. Bria and her father had argued that morning over the marriage. Bria had wanted to go out on adventures all her life, she wanted to see things no one else had seen. She wanted to travel Skyrim and find treasures. She didn't want to be settled down and be someone's housewife. Bria had read all the stories in her books, stories of courageous women running away from home to soar off onto an adventure - leaving behind everything and picking up a sword. She had heard stories such as the Dragonborn and Hero of Kvatch, normal people who had swooped in to save the day. She wanted to be like those people. She wanted to be courageous and strong. Her father had been disappointed - told her it was ridiculous and she had never picked up a sword in her life. Bria had said some horrible things to her father that morning, which had driven her to storm off in a childish mood to spend the day in Riften as an intent to cool off. She had told him she would run away. She had told him she would run away and never come back.

Maybe she could see this as an adventure? Bria Torbeldsen, once an average farmgirl - a wild child, unable to be contained by the orders and regulations of her oppressive parents - but after being kidnapped by a bunch of hideously barbaric bandits she escaped and now rides through Skyrim to heroically save others who are in desperate need and woe. She would steal a horse and ride back to Riften! Telling others of her stories and proving her parents wrong.

Bria's wild imagination drifted away slowly as the reality dawned on her. She dropped her legs, walking over to the bars. The music had stopped. She could hear footsteps splashing in the running water outside the room and the shouts of bandits.  
"What's happening?" She wondered aloud, seeing shadows dance on the walls of the room as bandits ran past the entrance way.  
The Nord man had also stood up, his fingers looped around the bars as he examined the entrance from his point of view, "my guess is that someone is getting into the camp," he told her in a bored tone before sitting down on the straw covered stone floor once more.  
Bria's heart felt as though it was beating ten times faster than previously, her expression lit up and her face twitched into a smile.  
The Nord shook his head, "don't get your hopes up," he told her softly, "they'll probably never get past the bandits."  
Bria frowned, "how do you know?" She demanded, pulling herself away from the bars and glaring at the Nord. She began to get a feeling that he was being deliberately spiteful about the situation because of his own pathetic self pity.  
"Because," the old Nord began, grunting slightly as he leant against the bars. "While I was dragged off from my farm as a bandit's new play thing, they did not shove a bag on my head like they did with you. I know we're in Stony Creek Cave and if you saw the bodies in the way in you would know many have tried to surpass it's walls and have failed. The Chief bandit has a treasure you see, that many adventurers are interested in, I've heard stories about it for years. People come and go out of these caves whether they're collecting stolen property for someone else or they're interested in some treasure one way or another - rarely do I hear stories of their return. Bandits are stupid but they sure are effective when it comes to battle as you've probably seen when they attacked your farm."

He sighed, looking away from Bria and closed his eyes, "they are careless and ruthless which are two very dangerous things when it comes to a person."


End file.
